I wish
by Alvazu
Summary: A collection of one-shots about what all the world's countries deeply wish either for themselves or for their closest friends and family. (First fics.)
1. Dandelion

So... this is the first story I have ever posted, and since English is not my first language, you are more or less guaranteed to find mistakes in this (especially when it comes to commas), but I will work on that.

Other than that: This is my fourth attempt to post something I wrote. What happened with number one, two, and three? I got too nervous, and self-doubt hit me like a truck.

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Song: Impossible - Rihanna

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 **Canada: Dandelion**

All of his life, Canada lived in the shadow of his brother, America, to the point where he didn't even believe a single person remembered him. But was that really the truth?

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Another world meeting another day to go unnoticed by everyone in favor of his louder, obnoxious, and far more noticeable brother who had the incredible talent to steal the entire room's attention all the while no one would spare him a second thought.

Canada didn't want to be this invisible, but since his brother was so naturally notable while he was so naturally quiet, it only seemed invertible he would be forgotten. It had happened throughout his entire childhood so why would it change in adulthood. France more or less abandoned him in England's care. England not only left both him and America to themselves most of the time but sometimes he didn't even see that he wasn't his brother. Even after the American Revolution, nothing changed. England still mistook the Canadian, who was still in his care, for the one who rebelled.

Nowadays Canada was more or less just a ghost at the meetings. Always present, always said something, but no one heard him. He tried to yell up in the middle of it all at some point, but no one looked his way. It was suffocating. How was it even possible to completely forget, or ignore another person's existence? Who knows? Canada didn't, and he was the victim of this situation.

Canada tried to focus on what the country at the podium said, but it was hard when all you could hear was the voices of a pissed off Brit, a bit too satisfied Frenchman, and some meddling nation who sounded very much like America. Their discussion began after America had yelled up about something that included "space" and "giant robots" and other things that were honestly too stupid remember.

"You bloody wanker! Why on earth would we want to build an Android and send it to space? It is an idiotic idea and serves absolutely no purpose. No wait, it has a purpose; it is a new low for everything you could suggest at any meeting, and that is quite the accomplishment, America." A very agitated England yelled, hammering his hand against the table surface as to emphasize his points.

"HA HA. Are you losing your hearing, old man? I just said it was, "a robot" ", America corrected, "and it's to protect us from every kind of threat space could send at us. So not only does it have a purpose, it's a good idea. Wait, it's a GREAT idea," the American personification exclaimed, while he fist pumped into the air.

Right, THAT was the cause of their discussion. It was almost fascinating how every world meeting was supposed to be serious, but then it would end up like this. "This" being some former enemy countries more or less attacked each other like back in the "good old days"; some countries zoned out or took a nap, or some fooled around one way or another. Some did the same as Canada and tried to create at least a bit of order, but it seemed in vain since the problem creating countries, like always, outnumbered those who wanted order.

A quick glance around and it would reveal who did which of the formerly mentioned actions. Greece and Spain somehow managed to sleep through all of the loud noises **and** the death stare from Romano. Italy looked as if he was drawing all over his note papers, and most countries grouped together and talked with one another, like Poland and Lithuania or Hungary, Ukraine and Liechtenstein. All the remaining ones were those who fought each other with either their weapons or whatever was closest at hand.

Canada looked at his brother and then at his two former caretakers, where one looked like he wanted to kill someone (most likely America) and the other wore a big smirk during the whole ordeal. "Guys, do you really have to-" Canada tried to say, before getting drowned out by a shouting England.

"What the hell are you smirking at, frog?" the Englishman yelled, while he crossed the room and hit the Frenchman's head.

"Ouch. Angleterre, why do you insist on hurting me?" France whined, clutching his sore head.

England just stood beside his old frenemy, a hand holding the other shoulder as a warning about his next word. "Because something told me you deserved it. Now, why were you smirking like that?"

 _"_ _This is going to go wrong, isn't it?"_ Canada thought and tried to prevent the upcoming fight between his family members, but was once again cut off. "England. France. I don't think this is a-"

France began chuckling a bit. "I find I absolutely hilarious how your former younger brother still acts like a little child, and even though you have stated on multiple occasions you want nothing to do with him as a brother or colony, you still take the brother- or guide role upon you," France said, took hold of England's hand and pushed him away.

"Guys, please. Stop this before it gets out of hand," Canada tried again.

The British man's face turned red, but whether it was of anger or humiliation was debatable. "No, I do not, frog. The only thing I'm doing is pointing out another one of this idiot's stupid ideas," he said, gesturing to America while he talked, completely missing what the Canadian said.

America, who in the meantime had discussed robot blueprints with Japan, snapped up at what he guessed was a reference to him. "Dude, I'm not an idiot, and this I brilliant. Why can't you see that?" he yelled. America walked over to the two bickering men but was rather confused as to why he was a part of their discussion, to begin with. He found his former caretakers one punch away from a new Anglo-French war, with England pulling a handful of the Frenchman's hair and France with a raised fist as if ready to punch the other.

As predicted, the whole thing before was just an appetizer for the upcoming chaos. Canada just gave up calming them down and found his chair again. Sighing he sat with his head in his hands, feeling the upcoming headache buzzing in his skull. "Why do I even bother? People haven't noticed me before, why would they start now?" Canada asked himself in a depressed tone of voice.

He thought about the past meetings and wondered if anyone even heard what he said back then, hell, if anyone even heard him in general. By the looks of it, the answer would be no. Apparently, Canada was not only invisible but also inaudible to everyone else. If this really was the only outcome then why show up at all?

Soon all the loud noises were too much for the quiet Canadian so he left the meeting room in search for the door to the garden. Maybe fresh would help his sore head. Canada walked for a bit in the unfamiliar halls, cursing himself for not knowing all of America's official political buildings, until he found the way out.

"Why is it like this anyway?" Canada asked himself out loud, "Why does it absolutely have to be me who's the forgotten one, why not someone else?" After he said the last part, he felt ashamed. As the one person who was always the unnoticed and forgotten one at assemblies, he knew how much it hurt to never be seen or heard, and that was not something he would wish on anyone else. Still, was it really too much to hope for at least one person to see you? No, he didn't think so.

Canada opened the door and was faced with a warm breeze and the smell of all the flowers spread around the grass areas. He sat down on the last stair steps and tried to relax and forget about the meeting he should attend, but couldn't mentally handle at the moment. Canada sat there for a couple of minutes with his back turned against the wall of the building and watched the scene in front of him, emptying his head of every thought about fighting relatives, nation duties and people not acknowledging his presence.

His gaze landed on a nearby dandelion that somehow didn't get removed by a gardener. Canada glanced at the white weed flower, smiling when he remembered how many times he had seen a little child pick these flowers once they turned white and would blow all the seeds away, hoping their wish would become reality. What a sweet and innocent thought, it would be so much easier if all of your problems could be fixed with the help of a flower.

Canada reached over and picked the white flower, he rolled it between his fingers for a moment and thought, _"Whatever. It's just a silly kid's game, no harm in trying it."_ He closed his eyes and blew to the top of the plant and whispered, "I wish somebody will remember me." He opened his eyes and saw there was nothing left on the stalk. "This means my wish should become reality, right? Oh well." Canada said, placing the flower on the ground and relaxed back into his previous sitting position.

A bit later while Canada looked at the sky he heard the door behind him open and someone walked out, but he didn't turn around to see who. Suddenly he could smell something in the air. It was something sweet but not like a flower, it was something else but still quite familiar. In fact, it smelled like- "Pot?" Canada more or less asked himself, turning around toward the front door. Beside the door stood the Netherlands and smoked what Canada highly doubted was a normal cigarette.

For a moment, the Canadian thought the other nation hadn't even noticed he was there until the Dutchman said, "25 minutes." Canada just stared at him questioningly at what he said. "You have been gone for 25 minutes," Netherlands continued, "I almost thought you would've left the city by this point, but I'll admit I'm glad you didn't."

Canada could do nothing more than stare at the European nation, unbelievingly. He couldn't believe what he heard. Netherlands had noticed his absence from the chaos inside the building, but how was that possible? "E-excuse me?" was honestly all he could muster to say in his shocked state. Why would this man be the only one to notice him? They weren't even all that close; in fact, they could count all the times they had spoken with each other on one hand, so why would he notice him?

Netherlands looked him up and down, studying his composure and body language. "Listen, Canada. It may look like no one is paying attention, but trust me it's not true. I can't speak on behalf of your family, but I've always listened to what you said. If they don't see you it's their loss, you deserve better than that." Netherlands said, sitting down beside Canada who took in every word the other said.

Canada did not show any emotion besides shock in the first couple of seconds. Did the dandelion work or something? It was like everything went silent after what Netherlands said, so Canada could think about it. _"This is a dream. How else could this happen?"_ Canada wanted to cry, hearing this. For so long he felt alone since everyone seemed to look right through him. Yes, he had his polar bear, Kumajiro, but what did it help, when not even his pet bear could remember him. "Why?" he finally asked, "Why are you the only one who remembers me? We don't even know each other all that well."

Netherlands took the joint away from his lips, sighed and thought about how he could answer Canada's question. "Like I told you before, I can't talk on behalf of all the others, but for me," he said slowly, rolling the joint between his fingers and put it out, "I owe you too much to forget you," he said. Netherlands looked up and locked eyes with Canada, green orbs locked with purple ones.

Canada felt nervous. Netherlands owed him? Owed him for what? The other man was serious, but he did not understand why, so he just stayed quiet, waiting for the other to continue.

"My people may have thanked you for what you did for them during the Second World War, but I don't think I ever did," Netherlands' eyes burned bright green as he took Canada's hand in his own, "Thank you. Thank you for protecting my royal family when they were in danger. Thank you for liberating my people, when outside forces held them captive," he brought the Canadian's hand closer to his face. "Thank you for saving my life when I was brought to my knees and couldn't defend myself, and most important of it all," Netherlands slowly kissed the back of Canada's hand and said in a deep and serious voice, "thank you for all the sacrifices you made in order to save my people and me."

Canada froze. _"Thank you for all the sacrifices you made in order to save my people and me."_ He meant it. It was clear he really meant it. It wasn't out of pity, just a delayed show of gratitude. It was too much now. All this time he thought, he was forgotten by everyone, but someone remembered him. He wasn't invisible. The tears flooded over and dropped down his face. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Please, don't ever forget about me." Canada cried out, throwing himself around Netherlands scarf-clad neck and buried his face in the other's shoulder. His body shook as he cried in relief and happiness.

Netherlands just sat there in surprise, letting Canada cry out as long as he needed to. _"I wonder how long he's felt alone since he reacts like this,"_ the Dutchman thought, _"time to change that."_ "Canada, look at me," he said in a soft, yet firm voice to get the other nation's attention.

Canada took a couple of deep breaths to get control over his still shaking body and then did as Netherlands told him. He waited nervously for what would happen next. Had he messed up, or-?

Netherlands took both of his hands in his and said, "I'll never ignore or forget you. I'll stay by your side if that's what you want, but know you have me as a friend no matter what. If you feel lonely or feel that nobody is listening, then know I'm there for you."

For what could be the fifth time that day, Canada heard something so shocking he thought it was all a dream, as that was the only explanation he could find. _"But if this is a dream then I should've woken up by now... Maybe this IS real,"_ he thought, feeling happier than he could ever remember he had felt. "Stay," Netherlands gave him a confused look, "please stay. I don't want to be alone anymore," Canada begged.

Netherlands smiled softly and hugged Canada close to his chest. "Of course I will. That's all you needed to say."

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Please read and review.

Curious to find out how good/ bad I did.

03/07-17


	2. Falling leaves

It's me again. Thank you so much to those who have read, reviewed, favorited, and followed this story, I hadn't expected any of this when I uploaded the first chapter, so believe me I was more than overjoyed.

This chapter took way longer than expected, but that's because I had completely forgotten that "summer vacation" means "we have work to do in five out of six weeks" in my household *sighs*, but I will still try to write these one-shots and I will not let go on them.

(two down, at least 16 to go).

Oh, I forgot to mention this in the first chapter: Warning/ important information: 1. there may be some OOC-ness, and 2. got the idea from a song, but most of my ideas are song inspired, so...

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Songs: "Let my people go" and "Be Original" - Mia

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 **America: falling leaves.**

Let Arthur be happy again (what started out as a simple dream turned out to be a nightmare)

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America tried to clean out his storage room again. He had found multiple boxes filled with weapons, clothes, maps, and other military equipment from the time around his revolution and they were all in a pretty good condition too.

"Whoa, I completely forgot I had all of this stuff, but what should I do with it?" the nation mused. Getting rid of all the things would be such shame, and a waste of history, but luckily donating it to a museum could be an option.

America kneeled and rummaged through one of the boxes, the one with clothes, and found something out of place in it. A small, dark brown leather journal with light leather strings along the back. The front, back, and corners of the book revealed it had been through a lot with all the holes, scratches, and other wear and tear marks covering it.

He picked up the book which was about the size of his hand and studied it slowly before opening it. "It's empty," America said after looking over almost all of the pages before the middle of the book, "why would I keep it if I never used it-"

America stopped himself. The book wasn't as blank as he first thought. A couple of pages after the middle, there was a thin piece of folded fabric. The American opened up the cloth to reveal the content and what he saw confused him a lot. Inside of the soft material, there was what appeared to be an old, compressed, dried leaf, birch tree if he remembered correctly.

"Did I put it there? Why?" America confusedly asked himself. He took the leaf up and gently turned it around, wondering why he would save it for so long. That was until he noticed the cloth had slipped down a bit, so it revealed some letters on the page in the book. He removed the material completely, and saw the letters spelled out, "Let England be happy again."

"Let England be… oh, that's right, I remember now." America said understandingly and chuckled a bit to himself. It was actually one of the first things he did after he gained his independence.

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More than 200 years earlier.

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He had done it. America had finally done it. He was his own country now. Completely independent, he had no other country to answer too.

It had been some long, terrible years where he had to do a lot of horrible things he had never dreamed about doing, all in the name of his people. Most nations would probably stay at their war camps and lead the battles from there; France certainly did, but not America. The young nation insisted on being on the battlefield alongside his soldiers, who were willing to give their heart and soul to fight for what they believed in: a free America where they didn't have to answer to a king on the other side of the world.

America wouldn't lie; he hadn't known about all the troubles his people went through every day because of the British army, since England always took care of all of his country's affairs, so how could he have known. Later America found a couple of letters and reports about multiple rebellions throughout his country. They described, for example, a demonstration where several people, American people, had been shot by British soldiers for protesting. All of that was absolutely terrible but seeing it himself was worse than any rumor or report. How dared England let the colonist people pay for some war the English king had fought? How dared the British soldiers hurt and kill the same people who wanted nothing more than to live their lives in peace? And how dared England not to tell America anything? Of course, the Englishman didn't tell him. After all, America was just a kid in the older nation's eyes.

That was why Alfred wanted to fight for his freedom, and not just let others risk their lives for him. Yes, he had allied himself with France and Spain, but that was different. "If you want to fight a strong enemy, you have to make strong allies," was what England had told him when he was younger, so that was what he did; he made strong allies, to fight a strong enemy, no matter who that enemy might be.

If only, it was not easier said than done because in war nothing goes according to plan; America had never expected to stand face to face with England on the battlefield and, he never expected, to see his former guardian break down like that. 'That' being England falling to his knees in the mud, crying over the loss of his younger brother and how unfair it was and begged for what had happened was a nightmare but it was all too real. America had beaten him and was now free. England had lost the brother he had fought to protect from everyone and everything.

"Amérique, are you alright?" a concerned France asked a very distraught America after the young nation had zoned out in his chair for 15 minutes.

It had been weeks since the War of Independence ended, so the personifications were traveling through the former 13 colonies to look at the damage which had been made and to make sure all of the redcoats were gone. At this point, the group which consisted of France, Spain, America, and a couple of soldiers, had made their way to the area where America grew up.

The three countries sat around a table inside of the strategy tent in the temporary camp and were supposed to talk about their plans for what to do the next couple of days, but the leader of the journey was in a completely different place. America couldn't stop thinking about his past when he was still England's colony, the day he declared his independence, and that goddamn rainy day on the battlefield.

"América, Are you there?" Spain asked while waving a hand in front of the nation in question's eyes without getting a single reaction.

Mentally, America was far away, soaking wet because of the weather and pointed his rifle at a lone British soldier who hadn't raised his weapon. The only thing America could hear was his own and England's voices, while the sounds from everything else were drowned out. He had gone through that day several times to find a way he could have handled it better, but every single thing he came up with was worse than the previous.

His train of thought was instantly put to a halt when he felt someone hit him hard at the back of his head. "OUCH, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" he yelled as he touched the sore area and sent an evil glare.

Spain just smirked at him and pointed in France's direction as if to say, _"Don't look at me, he was the one who did it."_

"France, what the hell? Why did you hit me?" America asked demandingly, aiming his stare at the Frenchman who just sat and bent his hand back and forth as if it hurt.

"Well, we tried to talk to you for quite a while, but you never responded or indicated you heard us, so maybe you would react if you got knocked out of fairytale land." France explained, "By the way, welcome back to reality. Hope you will honor us with your presence a bit longer this time around." he joked and made a light bow for dramatic effect.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that." America said and cooled down again, "Was just thinking is all."

"Thinking about what?" Spain got a dirty look from France saying, _"What do you think"_ but the Spaniard didn't see anything wrong with his question. "What? I'm not a mind reader, how should I know?"

"You could use your head, for starters." France snapped, before turning back to America, "Listen Amérique, you'll have to forget about him for now if you want to make your country heal after this war. You no longer have to worry about him; you just have to move on. It's the best for the both of you in the long run," he said more seriously as to make sure the young nation understood the state of affairs. Showing weakness to a defeated enemy could end up bad, really bad.

"I have to what?! Move on? I can't just do that. How can you say that so coldly?"

"I can say it because that is what you need to do. The thing is, England is not your problem anymore, but you will go mad if you keep thinking about other ways everything could have unfolded."

"But it is my problem-"

"Oh," Spain exclaimed, finally understanding what was going on. "Yes, France is right, America. Dwelling in what happened and what could have happened will ruin you." the Spaniard said, "But look at the bright side; you were able to defeat the leader of an empire, a world superpower. That is not something you should take lightly. Have you any idea how many countries can say that?"

With a big smirk on his lips, France tried to chip in, "Well, I-"

"Not that many, so it's a good thing, a good way to spread the word about your growing strength," Spain said, unsuccessfully trying to lighten up the mood, but ended up offending France and make America look at him as if he was insane. America didn't care about power and could definitely not see any 'bright side' besides he won.

France sighed, "As much as I don't agree with my friend's way of wording it, he is on to something and truth be told the Black Sheep had it coming for a long time. England was beginning to become too cocky for my liking, and someone had to take him down a notch. To be honest, this was what he needed, and you were the perfect person to do it with you being his chosen brother who rebels against him and wins," The Frenchman explained with an almost sad smile.

America looked between the two older men with a mixture of surprise, understanding, and anger on his face, "Wait, is this why you helped me, to put England in his place? No, that's just... this wasn't what I expected, at all. I wanted peace for my people and wanted England to see me as an equal instead of a child, and you told me you would help me achieve it."

"Well, amigo, that was, mostly, why we joined you, but of course we had our own goals," Spain said as if it was common knowledge, "Besides, what do you complain about? You got to prove something to him so don't criticize yourself now."

America sighed and sunk back into his chair, almost as if he gave up. "I had hoped England would see me as an equal, but I had never intended to make him cry like that. He was my hero growing up, and no one wants to see their hero break down in a pool of mud, crying because of what they have lost."

France shrugged, "Too bad, that's just how the real world is. As I see it, you need to assemble your people and your country, and after that, you can contact him but for now, get your own shit together." he said and rested his head in his hand, "You have 13 colonies to get in line, maybe even more, who knows how much more land there is to the west."

"I-I," America wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't know what. Everything was mixed in his head and needed to clean it up, so he made up an excuse to go, "I need some air," America said and stood up to leave the tent.

Spain looked confused at the statement. "But there is plenty of air, the tent is open," he said and scratched his neck.

France just shook his head at what his friend said. "Spain, that was not what he meant."

America walked over to the outskirt of the camp; he wanted some distance between himself and his allies for a couple of minutes while he thought about everything they had discussed. "This was not what I wanted… goddamnit." America said as he sat down, leaned back up against a tree and mused over how something could start out as a dream, but turn into a nightmare.

America couldn't believe what his allies had told him. Move on? Not his problem? England deserved this, and he was the perfect person to do it? How could this not be his problem, and how could someone deserve this, this pain and sadness? During his entire childhood, when England was around and not on business trips, the British man had always protected him and been cheerful and acted like an older brother, but he ruined it all by hiding things. Yes, America wanted freedom, for his people and himself, but he had hoped they could still be friends. That was most likely impossible now, but still, no one deserved to hurt like this.

Suddenly he felt something land on the top of his head. He reached up to grab it and found a leaf from the birch tree he sat against. He looked up and saw some leaves falling from the tree's branches and suddenly remembered this old wish granting game England had taught him a long time ago. _"Did you know you can make wishes on falling leaves? It's simple, you pick a leaf, that is still in the air, and then you wish before it hits the ground. Then, when it's on the ground you have to take the leaf and press it in a book,"_ he could hear the British man tell him when he was a kid.

"I don't think I ever made a wish though," America said out loud, deciding it was time to see if it actually worked. He locked his eyes on a falling leaf, followed its movements and whispered, "I wish England will be happy again." As soon it landed in the grass, America stood up, walked over to pick it up and then turned in the direction of his tent. "If this works, my wish should be fulfilled, and if it's fulfilled I have saved him. This time, I'll be England's hero, not his enemy."

In his tent, America found a small dark brown journal and a handkerchief. He ripped the rag in two pieces, put the leaf in one of the folded pieces and placed it in the book. To prevent him from forgetting what he wished for he wrote it down on the page in the book.

"Now I just have to wait." He muttered, put the book in his pocket and left the tent, "Guess I have to go back to the others now. Who knows what they'll do without me there."

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Back to the present.

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America had wished for England to be happy after he had been the reason behind the Britishman's pain. Had it worked? America wasn't sure. It had been a while since last time they had seen each other outside of the meetings and assemblies, so he didn't know. When was the last time they spent personal time together? Years, too many years that was for sure.

"Time to change that," said America and left the room to make a call as he should have done a long time ago. He found England's phone number and called the other country.

"Beep… Beep… Hello?" said England from the other side of the world.

"Hey England it's America," America began, "would you like to meet up and go out for a drink before the next meeting?"

Here was silent for a bit. America thought for a short while the other would say no, but that was not the case. "Sounds good," the Englishman finally answered and in a slightly relieved tone of voice but as if he tried to hide it. "Is there a special occasion?"

"Nah, it's just to catch up without mixing it with politic and nation responsibilities." America insured.

"You don't say." England said thoughtfully, "Alright, I'm in. See you in a week." He gladly said. Unknown to America, England had wanted to contact his former younger brother to rebuild old bridges, but pride had kept him from making the first move. Well, pride and the fact he still got sick every Fourth of July. England began chuckling to himself and smiled at the thought about their get-together and how good it would be to finally be able to see each other without the rest of the world was involved.

"Awesome. See you in a week," answered America and ended the call.

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Good? Bad? Passable? Please let me know, and btw; here is the list of planned chapters/ characters:

America, Canada, Denmark, England, Finland, France, Germany, HRE, Iceland, Italy, Norway, Prussia, Romano, Russia, Scotland, Sealand, Spain, Sweden

I'm open to suggestions if you want to recommend a nation.

20/07-17


	3. Shooting star

Thanks to everyone who have read (and reviewed) up to now :)

Interesting. Every time I write something I think 1.000-1.500 words and every single time it's 2.000-3.000. Wth?

I had something important to say about the stories but have forgotten what, so maybe it will be in the next update.

Oh btw, my vacation is over, so it's back to hell for me which means it will take some time before the next update. I'm sorry, did I say hell? I meant school, but those words are so close to each other they are basically neighbors (and they almost mean the same).

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Song: Shattered - Trading Yesterday

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 **Italy: Shooting star.**

Closure

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"Italy, open the door!" a person yelled and hit the front door repeatedly.

Someone was knocking, Italy was well aware of that, but he didn't feel like checking it. In fact, he hadn't felt like doing anything but lay in his bed all day. He was honestly just too sad and emotionally drained to do anything other than lay in his bed, remembering the past and move around as little as possible.

More than 400 years ago was the last day he saw someone important to him. Someone who would never return even though he promised he would. Italy remembered the entire day perfectly. How confusing it was, seeing Holy Rome leave Austria's house, how sad he felt when the other boy said he was leaving, so Italy didn't have to be afraid anymore, and how hopeful he was for the future. Italy had cried out about how he didn't know what to do without Holy Rome in his life and how he gave the other boy his push broom as a reminder him. As a thank you, Holy Rome had kissed Italy and confessed his feelings and promised they would see each other again after the war ended. But that was not the case.

When the Thirty Years War was over Italy was left heartbroken. His friend, his first love, had died in battle before they had the chance to get reunited. But even then, even knowing this didn't change a thing. When they were small, Italy said he knew they would meet again and that hadn't changed. It would just be in another life instead, but while the thought made him hope for the future, it didn't help the pain he felt now. Italy was still sad. It still hurt to lose Holy Rome, and the Italian still wished he had said one last thing to the other before it was too late.

Italy cried silently and clutched the painting in his arms tightly to his chest as the knocking came to an end.

Death was a natural thing. The ancients knew that and just like them all personifications now, and in the future, will eventually meet their end one way or another. Unfortunately, it didn't make accepting the loss of someone easier. It hurt now, and it would probably hurt for a long time.

He looked out of a window and saw the last of the sunlight disappear in the horizon as the evening sky took over, painting everything in darker colors.

"It's not fair," Italy mumbled, "We didn't get a chance. Holy Rome should have had an opportunity to come back even though the Holy Roman Empire was no more, hell, even if he had to represent another country. I mean Poland has been completely off the world map multiple times but came back." Italy glanced down at the rolled up painting in his arms, tempted to unfold it and look at it again to see if he remembered all the details of a kid he once lived with, but if he did that something in him would give.

Italy heard someone open the door to his bedroom. His back faced the person so he didn't know who was in the room with him but he guessed it could be Romano or Austria or Hungary. All of them knew how he took this day so it would make sense if one of them would come to check up on him, but he didn't want to see any of them, he just wanted to be left alone for a while.

He heard the person sigh before sitting down on the edge of his bed and carefully placed a hand on the Italian's shoulder. They were silent for a few minutes, as Italy could feel the other's gaze on him before the person said in a deep voice with a German accent, "Italy, tell me what's going on. I can't help you if you don't talk to me," cutting right to the case.

Italy froze. _"Germany? Why is Germany here?"_ he thought without moving from his spot and pressing the rolled up painting even closer to his chest. Germany didn't know about Holy Rome, and Italy couldn't see any reason as to why he should tell his friend about his dead first love, it wouldn't change a thing anyway, so why bother. Instead of answering, Italy just curled further up around him, trying to ignore the other's presence. He didn't want company on this day, why did the taller nation not understand that?

When Germany didn't get an answer, he just pushed on, "Romano called me. He wanted me to see if you were okay. I didn't get it at the time, but he insisted I'm the only one who can help you," the taller man said in a voice which showed his concern for the Italian. "Romano said this time of year is never easy for you, but he didn't explain why, so I'm more or less in the dark here. I want to help you, but you have to tell me what's making you sad." he tried again.

"How did you get in?" Italy asked in an emotionless voice, "I haven't opened the front door today, and the back door is always locked. Did you break in or something?"

Germany, who was taken aback by how his friend had asked his questions, scratched his neck and wondered how the Italian could guess how he came in and thought he had to thank Prussia for teaching him how to break locks. "It doesn't matter, what matter is you. You are not well, Italy. You have closed yourself off from everyone in a matter of days, and I'm worried-"

"I don't want your help," Italy said in a harsher voice. On any other day he would have gone to Germany in a heartbeat to seek assistance and shelter, but not today, not with this, he couldn't deal with this. "Please, just go. Just want to be alone right now. Besides, I do this every year, so it's okay," he mumbled from his side of the bed.

Now, if Germany hadn't noticed the red flags before then they would be screaming at him now. Italy always wanted help, whether it was with something serious like war or simply tying his shoes, so there was definitely, something gravely wrong if he declined help now. Also, Italy was a very social person, there was no way he would want to be isolated from everyone and everything like this, and did he say he does this every year? That's not healthy; at all.

Germany had to do something to make the Italian open up. After all, that was why Romano called him. For some reason, the older Italian thought the German could do something for his little brother, but if you asked him why he wouldn't be able to answer. Romano just had a feeling the German could save his brother, especially since he discovered a long time ago that he couldn't provide with what was needed to help the younger Italian heal.

"I'm not leaving until this is solved," Germany said, "This isn't good for you, Italy. Please, explain to me what's going on. I want to know what happened to make you like this, and I want to help you be happy again."

It was quiet for a while until Italy used one arm to push himself up, slowly, so he was in a sitting position without the painting. His brown hair hid his eyes from Germany's vision as he focused his gaze on the blanket beneath him, "Want to know? You honestly want to know?" Italy asked in a monotone voice. "You want to know about the first person I fell in love in, how we used so much time chasing and hiding from each other because we didn't know how to handle what we felt," Italy said the last part in an angry tone of voice. "How when we finally admitted to one another what we thought, he had to go to fight in some stupid war, but before he left he promised he would come back. He promised he would come back to me once it was over, but..." the Italian almost screamed the last part as tears streamed freely down his face.

Italy turned so he now faced his German friend who looked at him with surprise plastered on his features and could you blame him? Italy was always happy, and he rarely snapped at anyone.

Germany took in his friend's appearance, which lacked all of his normal bubbly personality. Italy had this sad energy radiating off of him, his body shook as every sob went through him, and he kept trying to dry his eyes with the back of his hands. None of this fitted the normally joyful nation, so this behavior looked completely wrong.

If Germany wanted to know what caused the Italian to react like this he had to push the other to tell him; otherwise, this would just be a never ending circle of avoided questions. "Yes," he simply answered, "Yes, I do want to know. Don't ask why I have already given you my reason."

The room was filled with the sounds of Italy's choking sobs as he tried to get his breath under control again. He looked at Germany hesitantly he wasn't sure he wanted to tell his friend anything. After all, this was his burden to bear his biggest regret, a regret he had for so long it felt like it had burned itself into him.

"You need to share this with someone; otherwise you'll go crazy," the German said calmly, "Share it with me. I won't judge, just listen."

Italy bit his lip thoughtfully and decided to explain everything to Germany. From when he and Holy Rome were kids and lived with Mr. Austria and Hungary, to his confession and to when he and Holy Rome parted their ways. Italy tried to put up a brave façade because; if he did this he didn't want to be seen as even weaker than normal, but Germany saw right through it. The taller nation didn't say a thing, and let the man beside him talk as much as he needed. The German asked a question from time to time, but besides that, he stayed quiet while listening to a story which took place before his time yet somehow still sounded so familiar to him.

"I waited… so long for him to return. I used so many years waiting for him, so many nights where I didn't even dare to sleep out of worry for him, or in case he would knock on my door and then I wouldn't be there to greet him welcome." Italy said on the nip of tears again. "That's why today is always difficult for me. It was the last time I saw him and if I had known back then what I know now, I should have-, I would've told him-, I wish I would've said-," he began stammering. The Italian took some deep breaths and said in a somewhat calmer voice, "I wish I could've said something important to him."

While Italy was distracted, Germany did something very out of character for him. He moved closer to the other and hugged his sad friend. He wanted to show the Italian that he may not completely understand what the other was going through, but he would still be there as support if the other needed it.

As Italy wrapped his arms around Germany and hid his face in the other's shoulder, Germany saw the forgotten painting behind his friend. The paper had folded out enough for him to see the picture of what appeared to be a kid in a long black cloak with big blue eyes and slick, blond hair which was mostly covered by a black hat. The kid's lips were curled up into a small, sad smile as he held a push broom in his hands and looked directly out of the paper as if the kid had stared straight at the girl as she painted it. A little Italian girl with light brown hair covered by a white cloth and she wore a green dress with a white apron. Wait, what? Where did those details come from? None of that was on the paper, so where did it-, _"Must be something I imagined,"_ Germany thought to himself.

After glancing at the painting again, he got an idea that might put an end to the Italians depressed state. "You could tell me. Pretend I'm your old friend and say to me what you would've said to him," Germany proposed. Letting the sad man empty his chest for everything he had carried around for years, hell centuries, could help him get closure and move on.

Italy froze. Was it honestly okay to confide this to another person? He had already told the other nation all of it, wouldn't this be too much? The thought of telling this to Germany sounded good, freeing even, but wouldn't it be the same as betraying Holy Rome? He didn't know anymore. Italy felt one of Germany's arms leave his side and heard him fumble with something.

"Italy, look at me," Reluctantly the Italian did as he was told, removing his head from where it rested on Germany's shoulder and locked eyes with the blond nation. He saw the other had messed up his hair, so it was no longer slicked back but rumpled as if he had worn a hat. The German tilted the Italian's head back by his chin as to make sure the other paid attention to him. Germany sighed, thinking about how to formulate the next part, "If I'm the Holy Roman Empire and I'm about to leave for an unknown amount of time, what do you wish to say to me?" he asked in a soft, caring voice.

Italy was speechless for a moment. Germany meant it; he truly thought getting this chance would help with letting go of the past. Funny, somehow it felt like it was wrong but also right at the same time. Italy took the German's hands in his and closed his eyes, focusing. When he opened them again, he could almost see Holy Rome in Germany's place.

Italy smiled and looked at their hands as he said the words he wished he had said all those centuries ago. "Even though we weren't together for long I just want you to know I loved every minute with you and as much as I will miss you when you leave I'm gonna be okay," he nervously began. "If I said I'll be fine the next couple of weeks, months, or even years it would be a lie, but I will get better. I won't be lonely, I have never been lonely. I have people around me who will help me no matter what, so don't worry about me, just go out and do what you have to do," he said with tears in his eyes threatening to fall again. "I want you to know I will never forget you, no matter what, and-" Italy exhaled a shaky breath while Germany patiently sat and let the other take the time he needed. When Italy began again, he looked directly into the taller nation's blue eyes and ended his speech with, "And I will still stand by my word, we will meet again. Just not how we thought of it at first but it will happen somehow." At this point Italy had big tears rolling down his cheeks and face, "Until that happens, this is goodbye," he said, but some unknown force inside him made him finish with, "I forgive you. Goodbye, Holy Rome."

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The next morning.

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The first thing Germany saw when he opened his eyes was a sleeping Italy who was curled up by his side.

The German smiled at the sight of his friend until he remembered what had happened the night before and how broken the Italian had been. Slowly Germany stood out of the bed as to not wake the still sleeping nation and began walking to the kitchen. He thought he could prepare breakfast for the both of them while the other slept, so that was what he did. Germany turned on the television, sat it on the local news and began cooking. When he was done he overheard the news anchor talk about something that occurred the night before.

"Last night we experienced a rather rare phenomenon. We had the perfect view for a meteor shower which led to numerous shooting star sightings throughout the area-"

"Smells like brunch torte," Germany heard a very drowsy Italy mumble from the doorway.

He quickly muted the TV and walked over to the Italian, "You are awake," Germany said, as he neared the other and took him into a careful hug, "How are you feeling ?" he asked, worry evident in his voice.

Italy thought for a moment before he came to a conclusion, "I'm good. No, I'm great, actually," he said with a smile.

Germany sighed in relief, "It's good you feel better."

The Italian nodded in agreement, "Yeah… I don't know why but last night I got the feeling as if for the first time in centuries, Holy Rome heard me."

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Thank you for reading, please leave a comment and have a nice day :)

Afterthought: ever wondered what a person might think about you if they spied on your computer? In my case, they would probably think have split personality disorder. Seriously. This is what I have searched besides music for the last month:

American Revolution, color/ flower symbolism, schools in Denver area, schools in my country, news, elemental symbols, poisonous plants, national animals, Hetalia characters, Polish and Lithuanian history after ww2 and around the fall or the Soviet Union *wink* ;)

12/08-17


	4. Ashes in champagne

Hey would you look at that, I can post stuff. A month, really? *Sigh* well, with all the schoolwork (fudging sadists), appointments and personal affairs that took place while writing this chapter I'm surprised I even had the will to finish it, much less post it.

Important info:

1\. (the forgotten one from the last chapter) if something seems... off/ repetitive throughout some of the chapters it's -most likely- not a mistake.

2\. Saying I get ideas from songs and not even mentioning them seemed (whats your word for it?) cheap? like a trick? cheating? so I'm gonna mention them from now on (trust me, there will be some head-scratchers among them).

3\. Got some of the ideas of their character pages.

4\. Ooc'ness, for some more than others.

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This was a request from Eternal Night Owl :)

Sorry for how some of the characters act, but when the show portrays them one way, and your stereotypes for them are completely different, it kinda messes with your head XD

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Song: Save me from myself - Carpark North (probably the only song with Danish nationality that inspired me).

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 **Lithuania: Ashes in champagne**

The past leaves scars in the present, but it is how you look at them there defines you.

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Moscow, 31th December, sometime in the 1980s.

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Lithuania gasped and quickly took hold of the corner of the nearest table. His grip on the wooden surface tightened to the point where his knuckles turned white, while he slowly exhaled some small puffs of air and tried to get control of the throbbing ache he felt.

It hurt, his back hurt so much. He could feel how his bruised skin stung every time his shirt touched or was pressed against his back or between his shoulder blades. All of the previously bleeding gashes were luckily covered by bandages to prevent the barely healed wounds getting stuck in the fabric, but Lithuania still feared any sudden movement would reopen them. But as much as it tortured him how limited his movements were before the pain would shoot through him, the Lithuanian nation still didn't regret anything.

"Lithuania, are you okay?" a worried voice asked him.

The nation in question turned around carefully as to prevent stretching his backside too much and saw the tallest of the Baltic's, Estonia, giving him a concerned look. By the Estonian's side stood Latvia, and while Estonia tried to analyze Lithuania's physical condition, Latvia just stood there, shaking and looked everywhere but at the nation in front of him. When the Latvian boy finally made eye contact with Lithuania, he quickly looked down at the ground in guilt while he fiddled with his fingers.

Lithuania wanted to reassure his friends it was nothing and just brush off his hurt display, but when he tried to walk towards them he moved too suddenly, and the ache returned with full force.

"Lithuania!" both of the Baltic's exclaimed and ran to their friend as he bent forward. They were at his side in a matter of seconds and tried to prevent him from hitting the floor by placing him in a sitting position.

"Lithuania, are you okay? What happened?" Estonia asked while Latvia looked around making sure Russia wasn't near them but all he could see was the guests attending the party.

The room was filled with people, celebrating the Soviet Union's New Year celebration, all of them were government officials, politicians, high-ranking KGB officers, and other nations who were part of the union. A lot of them stared at them with everything from annoyance, shame, petty and everything in between.

"I'm fine, Estonia. Just moved too abruptly is all," Lithuania gave the other two nations a small smile.

They both sighed in relief, but the shortest of them still looked guilty. "Sorry," Latvia said in a voice dripping with self-blame, "It's my fault this happened to you."

Lithuania shook his head, "No it isn't. It's because of what's going on with my people the pain is worse than normal," he told the others. "As for what you are referring to, I chose to do it, okay? It's not your fault. It's all on me."

"Why are the three of you sitting on the ground?"

It ran cold down the back on all of them. Russia. Lithuania exchanged a quick glance with the others. They were afraid, no, terrified, which wasn't surprising to anyone. After all, the last time one of them had interrupted the Russian it had resulted in Lithuania getting beaten with an iron pipe.

The Lithuanian took a deep breath and made up an excuse, "It's nothing. I was just tired, and Estonia and Latvia saw it as something worse than it was."

Russia slowly nodded, the sadistic childish smile never leaving his face, "Ah, that's a shame. And we are only 40 minutes away from midnight. Maybe if you hadn't spent so much time making problems or taking the blame for other troublemakers, you would be more present now."

The following moment was buzzing with tension. None of the Baltics dared to say anything out of fear of what Russia would do, so they just waited for his verdict.

"Latvia, Estonia, help our friend find a place to relax for a bit. He obviously needs it."

Estonia was the first to react as he stood up, pulling Lithuania and Latvia with him, and left to find a quieter place to take a break. Luckily, it didn't take them long to find an almost empty room, except for a couple of kids who seemed to be drawing and two boys played a board game at a table in the far corner.

"Is this okay?" Latvia asked in a shaking voice.

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll be ready again in a bit."

The two nodded in understanding and left Lithuania for himself.

 _"_ _This is going to end badly, isn't it?"_ he thought.

After a couple of minutes Lithuania had calmed down and no longer felt the stinging pain as much, but that only lasted until he heard something crashing to the floor in many small pieces. Lithuania looked in the direction of where the sound was from and what he saw brought back more than just a few memories. One of the boys who was playing board games had tossed the game pieces on the floor as the other yelled, "Hey! Just because I was winning doesn't mean you have to be a sore loser. At least play to the end and lose the game in a fair way."

The first boy smirked, "What are you talking about? I'm just using my rules, and they say it's always my turn, so I win no matter what," he said arrogantly.

Lithuania laughed a bit at that. _"That sounded like something Poland once said… Wonder how he is,"_ the last time he had talked to Poland was when he called the other during the war to warn him about Russia's invasion plans, but after that, nothing. Lithuania had tried to contact his friend, but it was as if the calls got blocked and later Lithuania found out why. Russia had found out what he had done during the war and made sure nothing like that could happen again, so he blocked the calls.

He got locked down in the basement for days because of that warning, but Lithuania regretted nothing. His back might be permanently damaged and covered in scars, but that didn't matter, as long his "betrayal" helped Poland.

Their time together was special, even if their bosses had had some problems and conflicts, but it never influenced their friendship, if anything it only made them closer because of their situation. Poland was shy and anxious, yet so troublesome and clingy, and Lithuania was happy he was one of the few people in the world who knew these sides of his friend. If Lithuania had to choose any country to be with right now, he would choose Poland.

The last thing he had heard about the Pole was about his condition after the war. It wasn't good. According to the rumor, Poland was very ill and wounded because of how he, and his people, had been treated. Even if it's exaggerated compared to the reality, it had to hold some truth, why else would the rumors begin?

 _"_ _I wonder how he is now. Is he better? Or is he still as sick as when the war ended? God, why will nobody tell me? I just want to know how he is. Just because the country is improving doesn't mean the personification is as well,"_ Lithuania ran his hand over his face in defeat, wondering if anything would ever change.

"Mister? Do you wanna play a game with us?" a little girl asked someone.

"Ah, eh. I-I don't know if I can d-do that. I h-have to do my job here, but I'm sure someone else would like to play with you guys," Latvia nervously answered.

Lithuania turned around and saw a small group of children around the smaller nation and looked at him with big, hopeful eyes. "Please mister, the more people playing the game, the more fun it'll be," one boy said.

"Why do you have to work? You don't look that much older than us, so why do you have to act all boring and grown up like?" another one asked.

Latvia quickly looked back and forth between the kids and the direction of where Russia was. He had a look on his face that showed how uncomfortable and scared he was, but the children didn't pick up on it. "It's a-a bit complicated to explain, and-"

"And he has to know how long it will take, so he doesn't forget about his duties," Lithuania finished what his friend was saying as he stood up. He walked over to the other nation and the children, placed a hand on Latvia's shoulder and said, "It will be okay if it's just a short game and besides we can't have mister Russia's guests are bored," Lithuania said with a playful tone and a bit forced smile. The pain wasn't as bad as it had been before but it was there.

Latvia looked from the children who jumped up and down in excitement to Lithuania who, according to the Latvian's opinion, shouldn't be walking around. "What are you doing?" he asked the other in a whisper, "You shouldn't be walking around at the moment. Your-"

"Don't worry. It's okay right now, and besides, I can't just leave you like this," Lithuania whispered back and added reassuringly, "If it gets too much I'll go, promise."

Latvia studied him for a second before giving up convincing the other nation. In the end, Lithuania could do whatever he wanted, and Latvia wouldn't be able to stop him, "Just don't overwork yourself, got it?"

"Got it," Lithuania responded, smiling at the younger nation. "So what kind of game are we playing?" he asked the children who had paid no attention to the countries conversation.

One girl took their hands and led them to a table with a yellow table cover and paper scraps, pencils, lit candles, and glasses with a pink liquid that seemed to be children champagne scattered across it. "It's a wishing game," the girl explained, "The rules are simple enough. When the clock strikes midnight, you write down your wish on a piece of paper, burn it and drink its ashes mixed with champagne before the last strike ceases."

Lithuania took one of the chairs and sat down; he took one of the paper pieces, a pencil, and a filled glass. He asked why they wanted Latvia to play with them and the kids answered with, "It's more fun to do this when there are more people," as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Around the two nations, the kids talked about what to wish for and if they would be able to make it before the last strike. _"7 minutes to midnight. What to wish for..."_ Lithuania thought to himself. He looked at Latvia for a moment and was surprised to see the determined look on his friend's face with his eyes aimed at the paper, clenched jaw, a strong grasp round the writing tool in his hand, only waiting for the clock to hit midnight. For a second Lithuania was worried his younger friend took the game too seriously. It was a game, not something real. "Latvia?" Lithuania asked cautiously and shook the other's shoulder.

Latvia was startled out of his concentration and looked around in a panic until he understood it was only Lithuania and not... someone else. "I-I'm sorry, what? What did you say?" Latvia asked relieved it wasn't Russia who brought him out of his thoughts as he originally feared.

"I tried to talk to you. What were you thinking about?"

"My wish and how Mister Russia and his bosses wouldn't be too happy about it."

"Oh," Lithuania said surprised, "What is your wish?"

Latvia began fiddling with his fingers and looked behind himself. He didn't want anyone, especially Russia, to find out, so he had to make sure no one else heard. "I have something I want to do as soon as I'm independent of the union, so I wish I get the chance to do it, even if I have to fight to attain it."

Lithuania's starred in shock. That didn't sound safe to say out loud. If anyone else heard it, it wouldn't end well.

He wanted to say something, but the younger personification beat him to it. "Don't you have something you want to do? Something so special to you, you would risk everything, no matter the consequences, just for the slim chance of achieving it?" he asked seriously, "I have. Even if this is just a game, it's still a chance for me to be heard and maybe make it a reality."

Lithuania was surprised. Even if it was just a game, Latvia still hoped this would bring his wish closer to getting fulfilled. Something so special you'd risk everything, huh? He began smiling; the wish presenting itself in his mind. He had already risked a lot just for a phone call, so it was obvious what it would be.

The clock hit midnight, and everyone at the table began scribbling away on their paper. Lithuania quickly wrote down the one sentence in his head. _"I wish I can see Poland again."_ After that, he used a candle to set fire to the paper and let the fragile remains fall into his champagne glass. At this point, nine of the clock strokes had passed, and only three was left. Lithuania quickly drank the ash-champagne mixture and sighed in relief when the last stroke sounded. He did it within the timeframe.

While the kids chattered about their wishes, Latvia began coughing violently. He drank too fast, resulting in him almost choked. "I panicked," he tried to say while not coughing his lungs out. Lithuania laughed a bit; of course, someone had to overreact to this.

Suddenly he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder with the thumb pressing precisely against one of the sorest spots between his shoulder blades which made the Lithuanian hold his breath in pain. "When I said you could relax this wasn't what I meant," a shiver went through him as the man behind him spoke. Russia.

This was not good, not good at all.

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_, 1st January 1991.

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Lithuania woke up screaming. He fell out of bed and fumbled to his feet, halfway running, half crawling to the nearest corner of the unknown room.

He felt it. He felt every punch to his stomach, every step on his hands, every hit to his back with a pipe and it was agonizing. More than 30 years of pain came crashing over him accompanied by all of the sounds and feelings from that cursed basement.

He sat in the corner with his head between his knees and his hands pressed against his ears as if to block out all sound. To Lithuania, he wasn't in some purple colored bedroom somewhere in the world; he was in a cold, dark basement in Moscow.

He could feel the dirt covering the floor and smell the odor of moisture and mold in the air mixed with the distinct stench of blood. He could hear someone talking to him, but wasn't sure who it was or what language, but it did sound familiar.

Lithuania tried to look up but what he saw almost scared him to death. A tall, dark shadowy figure stood over him, glaring at him with purple eyes. Suddenly the figure threw itself at him.

 _"_ _Is he going to strangle me?!"_ Lithuania wanted to do something to get away, but none of his muscles reacted. He was as frozen in place.

"STOP!" he yelled as the figure landed on top of him, wrapping its arms around his neck and shoulders and placed its head right next to his. "NO, PLEASE, I WON'T DO IT AGAIN, I SWEAR." The person said something but it all mixed into incoherent nonsense. Lithuania's heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears and feel it against his ribcage. "Please stop. I won't rebel against the Union again," he said defeated.

He sat like that for a couple of minutes, trying to prevent hyperventilating, and it finally worked.

"... not Moscow. Warsaw. You are here in Warsaw with me. Remember?" the terrified man finally heard the stranger shout as he got more control over himself.

Lithuania carefully opened his eyes and what met him was nothing like his freak-out-vision. Instead of suffocating darkness the room was lit up. Instead of a hard basement floor, he sat on a soft carpet. He could smell the scent of grass and a hint of horse coming from the person who clung to him and tried to calm him down. Lithuania saw the person had chin-length blonde hair where he expected to see silver gray and heard a warm, friendly voice instead of a cold childish one.

"That's right, relax now. You are safe here, no one will hurt you," the person said, moving his hands away from Lithuania's sides to cup his face, making them look directly into each other's eyes.

Lithuania felt the cloud of painful memories slowly dissolve from his mind as he fully regained his senses and began remembering. Bit by bit all his recent memories came back, like when his people declared their independence from the Soviet Union, but Russia got so mad he locked the Lithuanian personification in a room until the union recognized Lithuania as an independent country. After that, he used about two weeks in his own country to help people before he left for-.

"Poland?" Lithuania asked in a fragile voice, not sure if he could trust what was seeing.

Poland sighed in relief. "Yes, it's me," he said smiling.

Lithuania's face lit up in understanding. He remembered now. He remembered arriving at Poland's place, beaten and drained in every way. They began getting to know each other again after a long time apart, and now they tried to help one another get rehabilitated after the world war and the Soviet Union, but it was easier said than done. Poland was slowly, but surely making progress as a personification and as a country but Lithuania had problems. Every time he slept, he would have horrible nightmares and wake up confused about what was going on and where he was.

"Po, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," Poland said warningly. "I don't care if you think you are unfixable. We will get through this, together," he pulled the scared nation into a big hug, so the other's head rested against his chest, and with a smile on his face he mumbled in a quiet voice, "I won't lose you again, not when I finally got my wish granted."

Lithuania wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that and wanted to ask but decided against it because of what he wished for some years ago. Something so special to him, he would risk everything.

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Done. This was actually really fun to do, even if there were some complications. Any other requests are welcome since I still have some "wishing techniques" left.

Please leave a review if you want to and have a nice day :)

12/09-17


	5. Rainbow

Comment responds time.

Eternal Night Owl:

I wrote the characters, and especially Poland, well?

That's ironic when you look at the fact that when I said: "Ooc'ness, for some more than others," and "when the show portrays them one way, and your stereotypes for them are completely different, it kinda messes with your head", I was 100% referring to Poland XD

I don't know if you can call the champaign thing a "tradition". I just googled different wishing techniques, because writing 16 stories where they all wish upon a star/blows dandelions/throws a coin into a well (Iceland) sounded super boring, so I found all these weird methods to use as well.

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More than 450 viewings?! Are you crazy?!

This may not seem like a lot for some of you, but I hadn't even expected 10 viewings (much less 100), so this is big for me. Thank you all so much :)

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Song: Something that I already know - Backstreet Boys

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 **Finland: Rainbow**

There's a time and place for everything but now is neither.

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Helsinki, (very) early January 1918

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Love, it's a wonderful feeling that makes you see everything in a different light and makes your entire body somehow feel lighter and the only thing grounding you is the person you hold dearest. It makes you happier than you ever thought you could be and whenever you think about your love your heart will beat so fast time seems to slow down. But with so many good things, why does it have to be so damn complicated.

Finland sighed and buried his face in the white fur of his small dog, while he listened to the rain drumming on the roof. He had felt all of those things once, and he still did, but right now it wasn't right. He had just gotten his independence, so going right back to someone who used to rule you didn't seem like a good idea for anyone. It would be like jumping from one ended relationship to the next one and then back to the first. Not. HEALTHY!

That was why Finland reacted like he did when Sweden showed up at his doorstep earlier that day. He had finally become independent from Russia and just as he was trying to get settled in the house assigned to the personification of Finland, someone knocked. But looking back at it now, it felt like everything was speed up; everything was moving too fast for him.

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A few hours earlier

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He was cleaning the house and moved around on the different furniture to make it as homey as he could with all the few things he had with him or which were there in advance while his little puppy, Hanatamago, ran through the building, investigating every nook and cranny of the new place.

Suddenly the knocking started, and the puppy began barking in excitement, alerting Finland they had company. He set the cleaning tools down and walked to the door, but when he opened it and saw the person on the other side, he froze.

"S-Sweden? Wha-?" Finland stammered, paralyzed of surprise. He had expected one of the other Nordics to come and check up on him later on, but this was way quicker than anticipated, which made Finland believe it would be either Russia or Estonia visiting him.

He took in the other nation's appearance, and it honestly shocked him. Sweden was always suitably dressed with his hair brushed, clothes smooth and a posture showing superiority, but Finland saw none of that in the man in front of him. The Swede's blonde hair was tousled as if he had left his house as soon as he woke up. His signature blue coat was crumpled as if he had quickly picked it up, as he had rushed out of the door. His glasses sat askew, and he was out of breath. Did he run all the way from his house in Sweden to Finland or something?

After Sweden caught his breath, he walked hastily through the doorway, as if hypnotized and pulled the Finn into a big bone crushing, yet careful, hug as if Finland was a lifeline made out of glass. "I didn't know if it was true you were free again, but seeing you here…" he drifted off. There were so many different ways to end that sentence, and all of them would be true therefore he just let it hang in the air.

It took some time before Finland registered what was going on. Sweden was hugging him tightly; one hand buried in his silver locks and the other on his waist while his head rested on the other's chest. It took him a minute, but he began relaxing into the embrace and returned it.

Sweden had never been good with words, so he let his actions speak for him. He bowed down, making them stand face to face while he studied the other's eyes to see how different the Finn had become. He found changes, yes, but his Finland was still there. The man he had loved and longed to see again for so long was still there. "You have no idea how much I've missed you," Sweden said, leaning closer to the other and softly planted a kiss on the Finnish nation's lips.

Finland's eyes widened, shock and confusion flashing through them before he relaxed and reciprocated the action by wrapping his arms around the taller nation's neck and pulling the man closer to him. The Swedish man's lips moved slowly against his own and like many of their previous kisses, it held so much love and compassion but what made this one different from all the others was their overall longing for each other.

He had missed this, God, how Finland had missed this. The warmth emanating from the taller nation wrapped around him like a familiar, loving blanket, almost lulling him to stay like that. To forget the years they spent apart and just pick up from where they had left off as if nothing had happened... but that wasn't right. It wouldn't be good for any of them.

"No, STOP," Finland exclaimed, pressing his hands against Sweden's chest to push the man away from him as he realized what he was doing. His hands trembled violently out of fear. So close, he had been so close to letting go and surrender himself to the man he had loved for centuries, because of the feeling of familiarity and security, after finally becoming self-governing. _"What the hell is wrong with you? You finally make your dream a reality and then you want to give up on it just like that, just because he's here?"_ he thought to himself as he looked down into his palms as if they held the answers to his questions swimming inside of his head.

When he gained his footing and stood up straight, he eyed the other for a moment. The Fin looked so insecure with his arms wrapped around his midsection and took a couple of steps back while he avoided eye contact. _"Am I losing him?"_ the Swede thought nervously, _"No, don't go, not when we can finally be together again."_

Finland hugged himself, looking down at the floorboards of his house, "I'm sorry Sve, but I don't want to be with you. I just want to be on my own." That thought was still strangely new to him. _"His house"._ He couldn't even remember, the last time he was able to say that. For almost his entire life he was under someone else's rule, whether it was Sweden, Russia or even Denmark, which made this situation completely new to him. This freedom was new, which was why he didn't want to let go of it just like that. Finland wanted to learn how to be on his own, and then he could think about relationships.

"Finland?" the Finn heard the other nation say after some time.

"I don't want to see you," Finland didn't know what to say, he barely knew what he was doing. All he knew was, he didn't want to go back to someone else's house. Even if he still had feelings for Sweden, he just wanted to live on his own for some time, but he didn't want to hurt the other. "Please," Finland whispered, "Please leave. I can't deal with this."

The silence that followed was filled with a tension so thick, you could cut it, with a knife, and it managed to drown out everything else. They didn't hear Hanatamago leaving them. They didn't hear the wind outside pick up in strength. They didn't hear the weak rumbling of thunder in the distance.

Sweden was taken aback by Finland's confession. He lowered his gaze, wearing an expression that to anyone else it was simply his normal stoic self but to anyone, who knew the Swede; they would know how hurt he felt. "… Okay… I'll leave. But if you'll ever need me, I'll be there," he said in a soft, broken voice before he turned around, walking out the door and closed it without looking back.

After the Swede left, Finland realized he had made a mistake. He had worded his thoughts in a wrong way, which caused Sweden to believe the Finn didn't want to see him ever again, but it wasn't like that at all.

He wanted to run out of the house and stop Sweden before he got too far away, but his legs didn't move. When he tried to move forward, it felt like he was trying to lift buckets full of lead instead of his feet, but moving backward was easy. There was nothing preventing him from backing away from the door and keep walking backward until his back hit a wall. Finland felt himself slide down against the solid surface until he sat on the floor, staring at nothing. After some time, Hanatamago returned, she carefully crawled into Finland's lap, to which the Finn began petting the puppy absentmindedly.

That was how he sat, for what must have been hours. On a hard wooden floor, petting his dog, and led everything from the confrontation replay inside his head.

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Back to the present

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Finland sighed again, thinking about how he messed up that afternoon. He wanted to say he needed to wait a bit before they got back together but instead, he made it sound like he wanted nothing to do with the Swede. _"Sweden must be so sad right now. He must have thought I was afraid of him again or something. God, what a mistake I made."_

It's true he was scared of the other nation in the past, but could you blame him? Sweden wasn't only insanely tall and more muscular than Finland, but he was also quite difficult to read which meant the Finn always thought the Swede was pissed off at him. After they began seeing each other as a couple, Finland learned how to see the different expressions the Swede used for his emotions, and he still messed up.

Sweden still loved him, and while Finland returned that love, he wanted to wait before trying again and now Sweden had gotten the wrong idea.

He heard the rain no longer drummed as powerfully against roof as before. Finland's head rose from Hanatamago's fur as he listened to any sound from the world outside of his house. "... Nothing." He sat the dog down and stood up from his spot against the wall and walked over to a window to look out. What met him was the view of freshly wet threes at the edge of the forest and the gleaming grass because of the raindrops and lighting.

Hanatamago began barking and scratching at the door, indicating she wanted to go out. Finland left the window and opened the door for the small, energetic puppy that sprinted out.

"Wait, Hana-" he tried to call after the white dog as he was hit in the face with the cleaned air when he stepped outside and into the grass field.

Luckily, Hanatamago was close by, running around and hunted whatever insects that flew by her.

Finland smiled at seeing the white fur ball playing and looked up. Only a couple of disappearing clouds covered the otherwise blue sky, leaving the only evidence of the rain on the ground in the form of some broken branches, mud, and drenched plants.

He lifted his arms above his head to stretch his body and inhaled the fresh air after the rainstorm. Feeling how the energy surrounding him in the earth, grass, trees, and animal life that slowly began buzzing and chipping again, went through him and took all of his negative emotions with it as he exhaled, but still left him with Sweden on his mind.

Finland looked around himself, trying to take in everything that was going on and that was how he saw it. The rainbow in the sky behind his house, it was huge. One side started in a forest left to the house where it stretched up into the sky and ended in some hills to the right, and all of its colors shone even brighter than he had ever seen before.

"How pretty," Finland's eyes widen in wonder, almost feeling hopeful for some reason. His gaze landed on the blue nuances, which reminded him of Sweden again and his smile fell instantly, "... I hope he is okay."

Keeping his gaze locked on the colorful nature phenomenon he closed his eyes for 10 seconds while mumbling in a low voice, "I wish we can try again someday, and this time, we'll do it as equals. Not where one of us is under the other's rule."

When he opened his eyes, the rainbow was still there as clear as before. Finland felt something scratching his leg and found Hanagamago there, trying to get his attention.

"Oh, do you wanna play? Let's go, girl," he said and headed towards his house to find something to play with.

.

Decades later, somewhere on the Swedish-Finnish borderline

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Finland walked around in the living room picking up all the action figures, paintbrushes, and other kinds of toys and put them in a basket. As he collected the playthings, he wrote himself a mental note to tell a certain Dane to stop bringing new boxes of Lego every time he visited, after he had stepped on what must have been the tenth piece of those colorful blocks.

 _"Why are they always so messy? They never clean up after themselves, even though I told them hundreds of times to do so,"_ he thought, as he picked up the last toy, a blue plastic water dinosaur, with the initials "PK/PO" written on one of its fins.

Finland loved the boys as if they were his own, but sometimes he felt like they didn't listen to a single thing he said to them.

He stopped cleaning when his eyes caught a paper on the table. He walked over to the table, picked the well-made painting up and held it in his hands, examining the people portrayed on the paper with a smile on his face.

Four people were painted on the paper, going from the tallest at the left side to the smallest on the right side, with a little white dog beside them. It was a painting of the family currently living in the house; with each person having something similar to the people they looked like, whether it was a turquoise suit or a light blue sailor outfit.

Finland felt two big and strong arms snake around his waist from behind while the person rested their chin on top of his head. "They made a mess again?" a deep, heavily accented voice asked the Finn.

Finland sighed and leaned into the bigger man's embrace, slowly tipping from side to side. "You have to talk to your sons about it, Sve. They don't listen to me, after all," he said in a relaxed tone of voice.

Sweden hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the painting in the smaller man's hands before kissing his temple, "They are your sons too, and who said anything about them listening to me? They are boys. They are supposed to act rebellious."

Finland made a defeated sound but didn't say anything else, he placed the paper back on the table and enjoyed the comfortable silence between them. They could hear the sound Hanatamago barking and their sons laughing from outside, but other than that, it was quiet.

"... Finland, are you happy?" Sweden asked in a deep, serious voice, breaking the silence that had taken over the living room.

Finland turned his head and looked up at the man above him. _"What a strange question to ask,"_ he thought, but answered nevertheless and with a smile on his face, "Right now? Yes, I'm happy. What about you?"

Sweden didn't answer he just looked like he was thinking about what the Finn had said. What prompted Sweden to ask that in the first place? It came from out of nowhere. If the other nation was thinking about something that happened between them in the past, then he should try to understand it was exactly that; in the past.

"Listen, if this is about what happened during your rule over me... or the whole thing in 1918, it's okay. It's in the past, and this is the present. We have a new start now," Finland said, placing his hands on top of the taller man's, his thumb stroking the back of the Swede's hand in a reassuring gesture, "A blank slate to work with."

Sweden shook his head and tightened his grip on the other just a bit, "No, I meant your life. Are you happy with your life?"

 _"That's even weirder than the first question,"_ Finland turned around in the embrace, making them standing face to face as his arms wrapped around Sweden's neck. "I'm the happiest I could ever dream of being, understood?" He waited until he received an acknowledging nod from the man in front of him, "Good, now, where is this coming from, Sve?"

"Just wanted to be sure about something, and yes," Sweden said before leaning down and planted a sweet slow kiss on Finland's lips, "I'm happy as well."

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Sooo... since school is a bitch at the moment (meaning: we have this BIG assignment around the corner and we can't graduate if we don't pass it), I'm not sure how much I can write, while I slowly drown myself in a ton load of papers and books, which means it may take a while before the next upload, but I'll figure it out somehow.

Please leave a review and have a nice day :)

05/10-17


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